


this love is fueled by hatred

by emptyskies



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Heart-to-Heart, Hotel Sex, M/M, Murder, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Revenge, Sibling Incest, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25171951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptyskies/pseuds/emptyskies
Summary: After going on the run after killing their mother, Jeremiah and Jerome stop at a seedy motel on the outskirts of Gotham.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Jerome Valeska
Comments: 3
Kudos: 44





	this love is fueled by hatred

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning there are some fairly nasty depictions/descriptions of gore and murdered individuals in this so read at your own risk. I really don't like how this turned out, but oh well. Nothing I write turns out right anymore.
> 
> This was originally for my Play House with Me series but my friend convinced me to go a different path with it so we have this as it's own thing.
> 
> Constructive Criticism is welcome, just don't be a dick.
> 
> Title from Getting Into Heaven Can Be Hell by Frank Iero.

They were nearly to the Gotham city limits by the time they decided to rest for the night. Though they had hitched a ride now and then, for the most part they'd been walking, and he felt a bone deep ache, a fatigue so heavy he was sure he'd feel it to the end of days. It'd been raining off and on for the past two days, his shoes caked in dried on mud and his last set of clean clothes not much better off. His life was in shambles, the only life they'd ever known long behind them. He could only pray to god- _god, what god_ \- that the authorities were the same, every day spent in a frantic paranoia looking over his shoulder. Jerome had the nerve to laugh at him, seemingly unbothered by the entire situation; he'd been singing showtunes for the last sixty miles. Jeremiah wanted to pumble him- would if he had the energy to do it.

His head ached terribly, throbbing where his scalp had split and Jerome had fixed him up with little more than butterfly bandages and their mother's last bottle of vodka. He picked at his nails, and thought if he looked close enough he could still see her blood under his fingernails. He sighed, and wished he hadn't elected to stay outside while Jerome got their room with the last of their money, if only so Jerome would hurry. When he snuck a peek through the window, he caught a glimpse of the hotel manager, a greasy oaf of a man, leaning over the counter and looking through the window himself. He ducked out of sight and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Inside the man said something intelligible to Jerome, who only laughed and took the roomkey.

Jerome slung an arm around his shoulder from behind, guiding him toward a room at the farrest end of the motel. "Got us a deal, 'Miah, and you don't even have to suck any dicks this time."

Jeremiah tossed a chagrined look his brother's way and shrugged him off. Jerome rolled his eyes dramatically, and stopped at the second to last door, the green painting flaking off it onto his hand when he went to unlock it, and Jeremiah followed him in. The inside wasn't much better than the outside, decor that clearly hadn't been updated since it's conception and a bed covered with a hideously orange polyester blend comforter. It looked clean enough at least, and that was much more than he could say about home.

"Kinda reminds you of home, ya know?" Jerome hooted with laughter. "I get first shower."

"Whatever." Jeremiah sniffed, collapsing onto the edge of the bed. 

"No, no the correct response is 'may I join you dear brother'." 

"Ugh." He flopped back gracelessly, staring up at the spiderweb of cracks on the ceiling.

"Buzzkill." Jerome chided, leaving a trail of clothes in his wake as he made his way to the bathroom. He peeked out at Jeremiah one last time, eyebrows raised pointedly, and shut the door behind him with a slam that sent him jolting.

It was only when the water turned on and the shower started that Jeremiah was able to relax, on edge, always on edge. It was never ending, the struggle to keep control, to hold it all in where no one could see his blackened and charred insides. For once he didn't know why he fought so hard anymore. The answer used to be obvious; but with Lila dead, their uncle- the brute he was- presumed "missing" all these years, and Mr. Cicero never having gave a damn about them it was like he and Jerome were the last ones left in the world. The only ones that mattered anyhow. That was something at least. He wondered what Lila would say if she could see him now, and hated himself a little bit for it. She had been his mother after all- as truly pitiful of a mother she had been- but the point still remained that what was done was done.

When he closed his eyes he could still see her, like she was burned into his retinas; the image of her corpse collecting flies. He had wondered, in the aftermath, which of the blows had been the fatal one. The one that had shattered her eyesocket, dripping eye goo everywhere as she screamed and clutched her face- or perhaps it had been the one that had nearly severed her neck with one swing. He had longed to cut her open and find out for himself, never the one to leave a burning question unanswered. Jerome had had to drag him out, his breath hot and ragged in his ear as he urged him forward ' _move bro. c'mon you'll have time to be a freak later.'_

"Hey, 'Miah?" Jeremiah turned his head to the side, his glasses eskew as he squinted at his brother speculatively. Steam was billowing around Jerome as he left the bathroom area, slinging water everywhere as he dried his hair with a small towel and left wet footprints on the shag carpet. He swallowed hard, his eyes trailing a droplet of water as it slid down Jerome's pale, smooth back. He wasn't so freckly anymore, more and more fading the older they were, and he mourned the loss.

"What?" Jeremiah settled on finally, after a long silence in which he struggled to sit up. His back ached, his _everything_ ached in fact, and he only wanted to disappear underneath the comforter where the light of day couldn't reach him. He hunched over, hands on his knees as he watched with a dull sort of fascination as Jerome searched through his bag and unearthed a pair of boxers. He sniffed them, shrugged, and shimmied into them.

As Jerome turned, he quickly looked away; but not quickly enough it seemed. He snickered. "Perv."

"How did I ever get stuck with you?"

"Just lucky I guess." Jerome smirk never faltered.

"I wouldn't call it that."

"Oh yeah what would you call it then, master Jeremiah?"

He could feel his irritation grow with every desperately moronic word that came from Jerome's mouth, and he found himself clutching his head as it throbbed worse and worse again. "I'd call it an affliction from birth. A massive joke that someone like me would get stuck with the likes of you."

Jerome pinched his cheek and laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd heard all day. "Ain't he a cutie?" Jeremiah swiped at his hand, fierce.

"Leave me alone, can you do that much?" Jeremiah bit out, exasperated. What he wouldn't give to rip him apart right now, body and soul; anything so that he wouldn't have to deal with Jerome's constant menacing, especially here and now. 

Jerome grinned, all teeth as a gleeful gleam surfaced in his eyes. "Nope!" 

Groaning, Jeremiah fell back on the bed, and noted with some bitterness as Jerome did the same, the springs squeaking in protest just as they did on their bed at home. It seemed like most things reminded him of home these days; every man Jerome had killed along the way a copy of the men he had seen everyday in the circus, the women he'd bring when he thought Jeremiah was sleeping. A spitting image of their mother, he'd fuck them before splitting them in two with his hunting knife; he couldn't bare to sleep on those nights, and thought that maybe, just maybe Jerome knew. When he was finished, leaving her body to be scavenged by animals, he would come cuddle up to Jeremiah's back and fall asleep like that still covered in the blood of a whore. It was the only way Jeremiah could sleep without nightmares anymore.

"Think you'd be up for ah- a little hanky panky."

Jeremiah frowned, turning on his side to look at Jerome, resting his head on his forearm. "You've never asked before." It'd been a while since anything had happened between them in fact, since before they'd left.

"Well-" Jerome hesitated, for the first time in his life, studying at his ragged nails instead of Jeremiah like it pained him to even say. "Maybe I should."

"Because of-"

"Yeah. You may be a selfish, uptight, self righteous douchebag, but you're my little bro alright?" Jeremiah felt tears pricking up in his eyes, overwhelmed in a way he hadn't been even when Lila died. It was strangely intimate, even for them, and he got the sense that it was difficult for Jerome. 

Jeremiah took pity on him, feeling something close to affection for his brother. "You- don't um, have to alright?"

Jerome looked up then, bewildered. "What?"

"You don't have to ask- to have sex with me." He forced out, cheeks burning. "I- like what you do to me."

Jerome laughed, long and hard but didn't gloat, for once. He pulled Jeremiah in close, hand fisted in his hair as he kissed him, rough and slow. It's enough to make his head swim and he pressed closer, wanting more, wanting so much more; something deliciously unholy that only Jerome could give him. He felt insatiable, uncontrollable- ravenous. He bit Jerome's bottom lip hard, piercing the skin with his incisors and drinking in the moans and blood alike as it dripped down his throat. Licking the blood from his lips, relishing in the metallic tang as he pulled Jerome's hard cock out of his boxers. His heart was beating like a drum in his chest as he licked him from tip to base and bobbed his head down just enough to suck the head, choking and gagging as Jerome grabbed him by the back of his neck and forced him down further on his cock. Yes, yes this was- 

He pulled off, tendrils of spit trailing down his chin as he took several heaving breaths and clumsily palmed his cock through his pants. He'd never touched himself like this before, with someone else's eyes on him; only ever hidden away like it might keep him away from the prying eyes of a wrathful god that could see how it was blood and gore; Jerome's decaying corpse that appeared before his eyes when he came.

"Christ 'Miah." Jerome groaned, ripping Jeremiah's shirt halfway open, buttons flying everywhere. 

Jeremiah shoved him away with both hands and fell back, anger flickering in his eyes. "This was my favourite shirt."

"Shut up." Jerome pinned him on his back, eyes wild with a manic sort of glee and a smirk curling his lips. His breath hitched, and he quieted, watching Jerome avidly as he sat back on his heels. "C'mon."

"What?" Jeremiah questioned slowly, frowning; as Jerome took him by the shoulders and they went tumbling back back _back,_ Jerome's erection digging into the bottom of his soft stomach 

"This is your ride cowboy." Jerome murmured, low and husky. "Make it a good one."

He could feel his face slowly turning red, from embarrassment or anger he didn't know but the fact remained. He began to pull away, but Jerome grabbed him by the back of his neck and reeled him back in. Looking into Jerome's eyes was what he imagined looking into the eyes of a shark might feel like, what it felt like to be prey. It was no revelation to him that he liked it a little more than he might ever suggest.

"Ride me like the good little bitch you are." Jerome said, his eyes blown out, pupils fat and nearly covering the green of his irises entirely as his hand slide up Jeremiah's neck and fisted in his hair leaving goosebumps in his wake.

Jeremiah swallowed down the fight rising up in his throat, took the chance, knowing it was the once in a lifetime possibility that he would get to have control of his brother. He scrambled to remove his pants, falling on his back with a small thud, and his sweater following shortly after his pants onto the shag rug carpeting. When he sat back up again, Jerome was fully nude and his dick was hard and dripping precum as he stroked himself. He groaned, taking in the sight with ravenous eyes but forced himself to turn away. His cheeks burned bright with his shame as he emerged from his bag with a half empty bottle of lubricant. Jeremiah squeezed some onto Jerome's dick and pressed his slick fingers inside himself, trembling a little as he pulled them out and positioned himself above Jerome. His dick slid in, slowly but surely, stretching Jeremiah open wide inch by aching inch. It was almost cathartic, he realised, whimpering as he found himself fully seated on Jerome's dick and placed his hands on Jerome's firm chest for balance before he clumsily began to rock his hips; finally taking control of his sexuality, when he had locked this side of himself away for so long. It was wrong, he knew, he knew well, but he found when he looked down deep inside himself; where the guilt and shame had festered and blistered; he no longer cared. He hated Jerome with every fiber of his being, as one did, they'd always been enemies first, yes, perhaps even hesitant allies when it came down to it, but lovers? 

He would never coin the term; they were so much more, as very close as twins could possibly be.

He felt Jerome's hand slip onto his, calloused thumb gently rubbing his knuckles; and when he looked down upon him he found Jerome's eyes already on him, like he wished to worship at Jeremiah's feet. Like he was a God. He was.

* * *

  


The euphoria never lasted long after anymore. When he shut his eyes they flickered through his mind like snapshots of times he didn't care to remember. Lila's face, once scornful and painted like a clown's whore, now bloody and hollow. The whores' faces hacked to bits, their screams echoing in his head and the gurgling as they choked on their blood. The carnie they'd stabbed together with a shard of funhouse mirror for his truck they'd managed to crash half a mile down the road because neither of them knew how to drive. All necessary fatalities in a strenuous search for something better, but they haunted him just the same- their mother more so than others. Self damning, his mind torturing him over the regrets he had when it came to her death.

Jeremiah sniffled, tucking his head underneath his arm. He felt Jerome turn over, and the feel of his breath against Jeremiah's bare back. "You crying?"

Jeremiah shook his head slowly, but Jerome sighed, and wrapped his arms around Jeremiah's waist and he was acutely aware of how much he was trembling. "She was just a whore, 'Miah. Not worth crying over."

"I wish I had been the one to do it." Jeremiah whispered into the air conditioned darkness, confessing his deepest and darkest secret of them all. Spilling his guts for Jerome to see and trusting that he would understand. "I hate her, so much."

Jerome kissed the back of his neck. "Could've sliced off her face and worn it as a mask for all I care."

"She was an awful mother." "Yeah." "She never gave a damn about us." "You've got that right."

And the worst part of it all came spilling out like his guts. "You were right, Jerome."

"I usually am."

Jeremiah huffed irritably, feeling Jerome smile against the back of his neck. "You were always a mommy's boy, she always treated you better." And as much as he hated it, he knew it was true. Jerome had always bore more of the abuse Lila dealt out, as loathe as he was to admit it. "Not that it ever did much good considering. Can't blame you for wanting to live in denial." 

"How can you stand me?" Jeremiah murmured blearily. "I've never been able to stand you, Jerome. You're awful and cruel and- and-"

He felt Jerome shrug. "Guess you've just managed to worm your way under my skin. 'Sides if you didn't think you were the second fucking coming of Christ then you wouldn't be the 'Miah I love and know."

"You're an imbecile."

"Yeah. That's what a second grade education gets you." Jerome snickered. "I dunno what you want me to tell you."

"Just-" Jeremiah placed his hand over Jerome's, "don't leave me." He said, his voice small and weak.

"Never gonna happen. You're stuck with me. Till the end even if I have to drag you to hell myself." Jerome paused then laughed, just a little. "Not that you need any help getting there."

"I-" Jeremiah began, but felt no fight to argue against Jerome's words.

"You can't deny it, 'Miah. You enjoyed it just as much as I did."

"Maybe I did. What does it matter?"

"You've been deep in denial for years- mommy's little mister perfect. It was pretty sickening to be honest." Jerome said, matter of fact. He untangled from Jeremiah's clinging limbs, and flopped unceremoniously onto his back. "Nice to see you let loose a little."

Jeremiah sighed after a long pause."What are we going to do, Jerome?"

He shrugged and turned to him with a half grin. "Easy, we'll just pimp you out."

Jeremiah sat up abruptly to that, hissing, scandalized. "Jerome!"

Jerome rolled his eyes at ceiling. "Hey you asked."

"I wanted an actual answer, not- not- ugh."

"Hey you're not being a weepy bitch anymore so check that off your list."

"I-" 

Jerome cut in. "We're gonna go to Gotham." He then paused, before adding slyly. "Heard they even have a good community college. Who knows."

"And if the police find us?" 

"Hey, suicide by cop is a perfectly respectful death."

* * *

They set out for Gotham before the sun had properly begun to rise, backpacks slung low on their backs and their hands tucked deep into their pockets to shield them from the early morning chill. As Jeremiah thought back over the previous night's discussions, he prayed that it would never come to that, and ducked his head down to hide his face from anyone who might pass.

**Author's Note:**

> This should be a link to my tumblr. Send me messages, send asks, hell send me requests, just whatever.  
> [fades-in-time](http://fades-in-time.tumblr.com/)


End file.
